With a very overdone theatrical gesture she stopped and stared at me and looked distracted.
"I'm—Anna. Your Anna."
"My Anna? I didn't know I had one;" and she clapped her hands to her face again, but not quickly enough to hide her expression, which looked uncommonly like a smile. "And the surname?"
"Hilden, of course," she said after a pause without looking up.
This gave the clue. It was not von Gratzen's scheme but von Erstein's. I remembered our interview; his persistent attempt to test my memory; his story of Anna Hilden; his genuine anger when I had not recollected her; and then the sudden change of manner which had been so puzzling.
He had put her up to play the part of the ruined maiden and had probably planned the melodramatic scene which had just taken place, knowing that, unless at the same time I gave myself away, I could not expose her. It was cunning, and put me in a beast of a mess. There seemed only one course—to prevail on the woman to admit the truth.
"You can see for yourself that this has taken me entirely by surprise," I said after a pause. "I had a very tough time of it a few weeks ago; the ship I was in was blown up and the explosion caused me to lose my memory entirely. What you have said may be absolutely true; although to me it seems impossible. What do you wish me to do?"
"I want my rights," she replied, after a slight pause.
"Well, we can scarcely discuss things here. Where do you live?"
"In the Kammerplatz. 268g. No, I mean 286g;" making the correction in some confusion.